The car ride home is completely silent. Abbu doesn’t even put on Rabindranath Sangeet. Priti keeps glancing at me like she’s worried that I’m going to break down into tears at any moment. I just look out the window, trying not to let myself think of what’s going to happen once we get home.

I thought I was ready for this. I thought I wanted Ammu and Abbu to stop with the silence about me being a lesbian, but I’m not. The silence is better than this—than the rage I saw from them in the school. What if they make a drastic decision? What am I supposed to do?

The car slows as we pull into our neighborhood. I hungrily take in the houses and trees and playground that pass by, like this is my last glimpse at the world around me.

“Priti, up to your room,” Ammu says as soon as we’re inside.

“But—” Priti begins, but the glare Ammu shoots in her direction shuts her right up and she shuffles up the stairs. She mouths something to me from the stairs that looks like “I love you,” but it does nothing to quell my nerves.

Ammu and Abbu march into the kitchen, and I follow behind, even though they don’t call me in.

“What are we going to do about this?” Ammu asks Abbu. She’s standing beside the glass door overlooking the backyard with her hands on her hips, like the garden will have an answer for her if Abbu doesn’t.

“I don’t know.” Abbu takes a seat on the kitchen table and buries his head in his hands. He looks broken in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Well, we have to do something, we can’t just let it be.”

“I know we can’t.”

I stand in the kitchen doorway, feeling my heart getting slower. Abbu and Ammu’s words seep into my skin like poison. To them, I might as well not be here. I’m simply a problem that needs a solution. To think, just weeks ago I was sitting in this very kitchen trying to find the words to tell them the truth, to reveal myself to them. I was hoping to be accepted. To be loved. But here we are again, after weeks of silence and shame.

Finally, Ammu turns to me and lets out a sigh. Her eyes take me in from head to foot.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Nishat?” Her voice is heavy with unshed tears. “How long?”

I shake my head, unsure what exactly she’s asking. Does she know about Flávia? Does everyone know about Flávia? Is that what this is about? My lesbianism isn’t just a concept anymore, but a solid thing in the form of her? Something I made into reality because I gave too much weight to my heart?